


The Light at the End

by GayNidoKing



Series: ZevWarden Week 2020 [7]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Family Fluff, Mild Sexual Content, Multi, Other, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:14:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25139050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GayNidoKing/pseuds/GayNidoKing
Summary: Fifteen years after the Blight, Zevran returns home.
Relationships: Alistair/Surana (Dragon Age), Alistair/Warden (Dragon Age), Alistair/Zevran Arainai, Alistair/Zevran Arainai/Surana, Alistair/Zevran Arainai/Warden, Zevran Arainai/Surana, Zevran Arainai/Warden
Series: ZevWarden Week 2020 [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1813810
Comments: 3
Collections: ZevWarden Week 2020





	The Light at the End

**Author's Note:**

> Written for ZevWarden Week, Day 7: Relationship Goals, Future
> 
> Back at again with that good good Zev/Ali/Laz shit. All three of them deserve happy endings, and so that's what they're gonna get! Together! Forever!

The clouds had fled early in the morning, perhaps sensing that he wasn’t in the mood for the gloom. The humidity was uncomfortable but welcome. He vastly preferred the Antivan heat to the cold of Ferelden and Orlais. The trees fell away from the road, and from the horizon rose a modest house, two stories and surrounded by a small orchard of short, flowering trees. Even from here, he could hear the barking of the mabari.

The sight took a weight off his shoulders. Zevran released a heavy sigh, and smiled.

He was finally home.

Two months of travel, politics, disappointment, and uncomfortable anatomy lessons. Two months of missing one part of his heart, of sleeping in unfamiliar beds and greeting unfriendly faces. Not his longest stint away from home, and definitely not his most unpleasant. But no matter how hard his time away was, coming home always felt the same.

It was another ten minutes riding to the house, and he spurred his horse on a little faster. He wasn’t keen to stretch this out any longer. The setting sun to his left gave him the last bit of warmth he needed to close the distance between him and his front door.

He could smell the food burning as he approached. It was anyone’s guess who was cooking: Mattias had learned Alistair’s sense of honor and goodness, but had also learned his abysmal culinary skills. No matter how often Zevran intervened, the two of them alone always managed to turn out the most astonishingly bad dishes he’d ever seen.

He ate them every time, but that was beside the point.

The dogs looked up as he approached. It was just the two adult mabari at the door, standing guard as always. Knife huffed at him, no doubt asking about the location of his master. Zevran paid the toll of a few pats to the head, and snuck the beast a strip of jerky from his pouch.

“Don’t tell the Wardens,” he warned seriously, and got a businesslike huff in response. “And don’t you worry. She’s coming.”

The dog took the bribe and rolled over. Zevran obligingly rubbed his stomach a few times.

He took one moment with his hand on the heavy wooden door. It had been years, and returning still felt like something monumental. Even trips into town for supplies felt like adventures, and returning felt like a triumph.

“I’m home!” he called as he flung the door open.

He immediately had to wave away the smoke that was billowing from the back of the house. Coughing dramatically, Zevran made his way through the hazy rooms to the kitchen. His boots were off at the door, and his coat clung into the bin.

Mattias stood in front of the oven, coughing and waving a towel frantically. His red hair was tied back, and Zevran could see the smudges of flour and smoke on his cheeks. He didn’t look up as Zevran entered, but Alistair did. He smiled widely and stood from the table.

“Zevran!” He spoke his name like it was something precious, and looked at him like he was priceless. He crossed the room, and they kissed like they hadn’t seen each other in years. Mattias wasn’t too distracted with his cooking to gag dramatically.

“I’m right here!” he protested, but was too busy trying to salvage whatever it was in the pan to put much energy into being disgusted.

“Where’s Lazare?” Alistair asked softly, too low for their son to hear. He ran a gentle finger down Zevran’s face, pushing aside a lock of hair.

“Only a day or two behind.” Zevran gave up another kiss and pulled away. “I am more interested in what is happening behind you.”

Alistair laughed and turned as well. With a dramatic flourish, he announced, “Mattias is making us lunch.”

“Ahh.” Zevran nodded wisely. “I came just in time to save the house, then.”

“Papa, please! It’s not that bad...” Mattias turned finally, and his face lit up at the sight of Zevran. He gave the smoldering mess one last look, then left it to envelop him in a hug. “You’re back! I missed you!”

“Will you ever stop growing?” Zevran asked with a laugh. “We were only gone two months, and look at you!”

Mattias was definitely half human. All three of his parents were short, and he was already pushing six feet at seventeen. He looked like his mother, but taller, and lanky. He had her red hair, her freckles, her green eyes.

Mattias grinned, the wide and carefree smile his mother so rarely revealed. “Mama says Amell was extremely tall, but I hope I don’t grow any more. I can already barely get in the door.” He looked over Zevran’s shoulder, eyes suddenly dark. “Where _is_ she, by the way? Putting up the horses?”

“A few days behind,” he said again. “She’s visiting with her brother.”

“Which one?” Alistair piped up. He was scraping the remains of lunch off of the pan with a heavy wooden paddle, “sneaking” the edible bits to the mabari puppy at his feet. He spoiled them, just as much as he spoiled his family.

“Antone. He is having some problems with thieves at his shop, or something of that nature.”

Zevran settled down at the table and shared the family gossip. And there was a _lot_ of family gossip.

Lazare more than made up for his and Alistair’s lack of family ties. After the Blight, they had traveled first to Redcliffe, to find the young “orphan” Mattias, and then to Antiva to find the Surana family, and his mother’s clan. Lazare told Zevran that she had four younger siblings. When they found the Surana household, they found an extra two.

Any loneliness Zevran might have given into once upon a time was banished when they returned to Lazare’s family. Even her parents welcomed both him and Alistair with open arms, and doted on Mattias as if they’d always known him. It soothed the rejection he’d endured upon finding his mother’s clan.

The one downside of such a large family was there were _always_ at least a dozen new stories to hear and tell every time they visited. Or, at least Lazare considered it a downside. She struggled to keep up with all the gossip. Zevran loved it. It was a delight, weaving a story full of drama and hardship, with stakes as low as a yellow dress.

It was Mattias who turned to Zevran this time, eyes dark. “So...how did it go?” He ignored the sharp look from Alistair and clarified, “With the Wardens? How did it go?”

Zevran hummed thoughtfully. Seventeen wasn’t quite old enough to know the gorey details of his mother’s work, but Mattias was a smart kid. Even if he didn’t get all the details, Zevran had never liked the idea of lying to him. “As well as we expected,” he said. “Progress is slow, but it is being made.”

He left it at that. He didn’t want to bring in the somewhat depressing details of Lazare’s research with the Wardens. Even with assistance from a woman who had apparently been cured completely of the Blight, it was difficult to find any way to cure the Blight without a heavy price. Even the temporary “cure” she and Alistair had submitted to years ago had come with a toll, one that they would not reveal no matter how much Mattias pried.

“Is that where Mama _actually_ is?”

An astute question...it was true that when Mattias was a child, they had often lied to him about Lazare’s whereabouts. Her family was large enough that it was easy to fabricate emergency after emergency that might require her attention. This time, however, Zevran was happy to say that it was the truth this time.

“The Surana home is between here and the Grey Wardens headquarters in Antiva,” he pointed out. “We stayed there on the way home, and she wanted to stay and play bouncer.”

Mattias looked at him for a long moment, then grinned. “Mama does love intimidating people.”

“And she is remarkably good at it, too.”

For a short, blind _mage_ , Lazare had a way of being _terrifying_. Now that her name had some weight and history behind it, she didn’t hesitate to use it to cow unsavory people into submission. Alistair thought it was a bit dishonorable. Zevran though it was extremely sexy.

Eventually, Mattias excused himself to try one more time to cook lunch.

“Third time’s the charm!” he said with a grin, and shooed them out of the kitchen.

Zevran relished the time alone with his husband. 

Lazare was called away on Warden business often, and more often these days, it seemed. They took turns accompanying her now that they had a permanent home to come back to.

When he was sure Mattias was out of earshot, he shared (what little he understood) of what had gone on. He was sure she would have more details, and more knowledge, but he soothed Alistair’s fears that anything had gone wrong.

When storytime was over, Alistair took him to their bedroom. Zevran’s flirtatious touches were ignored as he drew him a bath, but even after all this time, he prided himself on being irresistible when naked. Alistair held out longer than he might have a decade ago, but his giving in was inevitable.

Their bed was large, and soft, and comfortable. It was everything they hadn’t had before, and Zevran would gladly spend days there. Even longer, if he had a handsome man with him. Longer still, if their spouse joined the fray.

“I missed you so much,” Alistair murmured into Zevran’s chest. “Every time, I miss you _so much._ ”

The need in his voice was familiar, and Zevran soothed it away. Selfishly, he still felt so... _warm_ in the face of how much Alistair loved him. Lazare had softened, but she had her reserve. Alistair, however, loved without inhibition. When he looked at Zevran, he looked at him as though he were the only thing in the world worth looking at. Even sharing that gaze with Lazare had never diminished how much he craved it.

He had admitted this only a handful of times, and this was not going to be one of them. Instead, he leaned in and kissed Alistair once for every year of their love.

“And I missed you, my love. But I am home now, and will be for a while now. We have time now.”

Alistair sighed and leaned in, taking all the love Zevran had to give. When they had first came together, Zevran had feared one of them would one day run out. But it was going on sixteen years now, and the supply hadn’t run dry yet. He had made happy peace with the idea that it never would.

“We should get back out there,” he finally said regretfully, leaving a trail of kisses across Alistair’s chest. “Lest Mattias burn the house down.”

Alistair chuckled. “He’s getting better,” he insisted, but followed Zevran rolling out of bed.

When they returned to find Mattias trying to smother another fire, Zevran was inclined to disagree.

“Third time’s the charm, eh?” His teasing was taken in stride, but Mattias’s ears darkened at the tips.

It turned out to be the fifth attempt that finally stuck, and by that point it was dinner. Zevran finally stepped in and saved them from another crime against food, and together he and Mattias turned out something wonderful.

“Thanks, Papa.” Mattias leaned in close and bumped their shoulders together. He looked at Zevran with such open awe, the look Zevran wasn’t used to seeing on someone so young.

“Think nothing of it,” he assured him, flipping the ingredients in the pan with a flourish. “What am I here for, but to pass on my skills?”

Mattias grinned. “Well, better you than Dad, I guess.”

“Hey!” Alistair protested from the other room. “I can hear you, you know!”

Mattias’s laugh was loud and infectious. “I didn’t say nuthin’!”

The three of them ate in the back of the house, keeping an eye on the puppies. Even after all these years, Zevran ate quickly and Alistair devoured at least three portions. Mattias ate about as much, not due to any blight magic, but due to the mysterious affliction known as puberty.

He told Zevran about his excitement at the thought of going to the city to learn from his grandmother.

“She said I’ve got the steadiest hand she’s ever seen! Isn’t that amazing!” He excitedly left to show them his latest painting, a painstakingly detailed copy of a portrait his grandmother had done of Lazare as a child. Zevran didn’t have to fake his awe at his son’s skill, which had grown in leaps and bounds in the past two years.

The night, Zevran slept better than he had in all the two months he’d been away. Something about being _here_ , being _home_ , put him at ease. Alistair clung to him like he was afraid he would vanish. When the nightmares woke them up, they had nothing but gentle touches and sympathetic words. Zevran was so content he forgot to compare what he had now to what he’d had in the past.

Lazare ducked in early on the second day after Zevran’s homecoming...or perhaps it was late the first day. The moon was still high and no birds were singing outside.

The sound of the door opening roused Zevran from his slumber (which would always be light), and he relaxed at the sound of his spouse stage whispering to the dogs to please be quiet. Everyone else slept through the muted clatter of her putting away her things, trying (and failing) to be quiet. His hypervigilance would never leave him, but in moments like this he didn’t mind.

Every so often he heard the soft huff of Ballista, the mabari she had trained to guide her when Knife “retired” to become a sire for the next generation of Grey Warden mabari.

Zevran always slept closest to the door, and Lazare was welcomed home with outstretched hands and a willing mouth to kiss. She didn’t seem surprised by his greeting. 

“Why are you awake?” she scolded softly as he pulled her down. “Let me take my clothes off first.”

“I can take them off for you,” he suggested sleepily, but they both knew there wasn’t much fire to the words. It was too early for that, and she looked exhausted.

“You could,” she agreed, but still pulled away to strip herself. “I’ll bathe first thing, promise.”

He snorted softly. “You know I don’t care. We spent over a year sleeping in a tent.”

She grinned. “So we did.” She sighed softly.

She clambered over him, settling in between him and Alistair. As always, their husband was sleeping like the dead, and barely shifted when Lazare accidentally kneed him in the hip.

There was still a chill in the air from the lingering spring, so it wasn’t any trouble for Zevran to pull the blanket over them and hold Lazare close. That familiar feeling of warmth spread through his body when he pressed his face into her neck.

They just held each other for a few moments. They had only been apart a few days, but there was something different about being together and _home_. She kissed the corners of his mouth gently.

“Will tonight be easy?” he asked as she made herself comfortable.

Lazare paused for a moment, thinking. Even with the Taint “cure,” there were lingering effects from her time as a Grey Warden that no amount of magic could cure. The Calling no longer interrupted her sleep, but nothing could cure her of the non magical nightmares that plagued her. All three of them suffered hard nights.

“I don’t think so,” she said honestly, and turned over to face him. “But you’re tired. You don’t have to sit up with me.”

“I will have plenty of time to sleep tomorrow,” he said. “Alistair plans to begin training the dogs tomorrow, and I definitely will not be helping.”

She laughed softly. “Are they already old enough?”

“They were born just before we left…”

They talked until the sun rose and beyond. When the first sunbeam broke through their curtains, Alistair woke.

The look on his face when he opened his eyes to see both of his loves beside him was one that Zevran would never tire of seeing. The open adoration still, over a decade later, made his heart clench. It no longer terrified him, and he knew now that it wouldn’t ever fade.

“I am the luckiest man in the world,” he said. He’d said it so many times, and every time it sounded like he was baring his heart for the first time. He kissed Lazare first, and as he always did seemed to drown in her.

Zevran let them have their moment. He had had Lazare all to himself for two months. He didn’t even try to eavesdrop on the soft whispers they pressed into each other’s skin. 

As they always did, however, they drew him into their fold quickly. They stayed in bed longer than they should have, hiding from responsibility for a bit longer. Zevran somehow found himself in between them (a delightful place to be). The conversation that came was slow and comfortable, and there wasn’t a harsh word or dark thought that plagued them.

Alistair got up to handle the dogs after an hour, leaving the two of them to catch up on the sleep they’d lost. He left each of them with a lingering kiss and a whispered, “I love you so much.” For Lazare, it was worshipping, adoring. For Zevran, it was certain and declarative.

The sun seemed to invite slumber more easily than the night had, and Zevran found himself drifting off almost immediately. His limbs tangled with Laz’s, cold and weary, and the last thing he saw before drifting off was her face, and behind her the window with its heavy curtains and the weapons that stayed hanging more often than not.

After everything that had happened...the Crows, Rinna, the Blight, and all that came after...Zevran was glad for it. He would relive every pain, every hurt, every broken bone and broken heart, if it got him here again. Alistair and Mattias sang an old war song off-key from the living room, and Laz smiled softly and half-asleep in the spotlight of the sun. And despite of all of him, he was here too. He belonged here, was welcomed here, was _loved_ here.

Lazare kissed him gently as he fell asleep, safe and beloved.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, the use of Laz's full first name is on purpose. That's the Good Shit, folks.
> 
> If anyone has read the previous stories from this prompt, Mattias is the child mentioned in Day 4. He is the son of Laz Surana and Erik Amell!


End file.
